Misconceptions
by F3rn
Summary: James Potter has a secret, and it's infecting his entire life. Sue Barnthorpe does James Potter a favour, and suddenly finds out what it is to be part of a family.
1. Chapter 1: Low Moods

"Sue!"

I'm drifting on the edge of consciousness, peacefully distant from the world.

"Susan Barnthorpe!"

My eyes snap open, and I am briefly aware of the branch digging into my back before I am swinging myself down the tree I have inadvertently fallen asleep in. "Coming, coming, coming!" It is no easy task- the Whomping Willow, which is murderously attempting to fling me from its branches, had been sedated using a nifty trick I learnt from observing James Potter when I climbed it, and so didn't notice me slumbering in its boughs. My movement down its branches has roused it, and it has certainly noticed me now. I outmanoeuvre it skilfully, however; I have had a good deal of practice.

"For the love of Pete, Sue, you need to stop that. You'll scare Abigail half to death if she sees you, not to mention any of the teachers would have you in detention for a week." Graham scolds me while simultaneously dusting me down, causing my knees to buckle.

"Where _is_ Abi?" I ask, catching my footing and scowling at him ungratefully. "And who's Pete?"

"Off looking for you," he returns shortly. "Don't worry about it, it's a muggle thing. Come _on,_ she'll know if she sees you here, and anyway, it's the end of lunch. That's why we were looking for you. Abi reckoned you were off snoozing somewhere, so she made me help her check the grounds. Where's your bookbag? Ah, there it is. Honestly, it's your own silly fault for falling asleep in the bloody _Whomping Willow_ anyway if you ask me. I would have just left you to it, only Abi would go on, and Brandon Johnson mentioned he'd seen you up here again…" Graham chunters on as he tows me away, still scowling.

"It's not a bookbag, it's a satchel," I interrupt obstinately. "How old are you, fifty?"

"That is _so_ not the point."

"You are _so_ melodramatic." I mimic him childishly.

"You are _so_ not old enough to be studying for NEWTs. Shorty."

I stick my tongue out at him, and he grins, peace restored. When he resumes his chuntering, this time about silly idiots who make him late to class, it is more good-natured. I refrain from pointing out that if he and Abi were not so busy thrusting their tongues down each other's throats (bad image, need better phrasing) they might have noticed I was asleep up a tree capable of killing a man _before_ the end of lunch. Not that I would have said this anyway. Graham and Abigail are the closest things I have to friends- they certainly care about me, though Abi makes it more obvious than the blustering Graham- but they were together long before they took pity on me at the beginning of fifth year (unlike me, they are Hufflepuffs- far too nice for their own good) and far be it from my intentions to cramp their style. They know I'll come to them if I need it, but frankly I can do okay on my own. I did for four whole years.

" _There_ you are! I thought you must have drowned, or been caught by wolves, or disturbed Potter and Weasley in a prank, or fallen down a rabbit hole-"

"Yeah, I spotted a white rabbit in a waistcoat," I offer, and Graham, who is muggleborn, snorts appreciatively. Abi takes no notice and continues her diatribe. "Or been knocked down by a broomstick, or carried off by centaurs, or–"

"Abi," says Graham affectionately, "shut up, there's a dear."

Abi tosses her long plait of mousy brown hair behind her and shrugs. "I get worried. GOODNESS GRACIOUS MERLIN IS THAT THE TIME? PROFESSOR VECTOR WILL _MURDER_ US!"

And with that we are swept along in her wake, Graham protesting that Vector had never even slightly hinted at any murderous tendencies, and me pondering whether anybody else in the world was as well suited as Graham and Abigail.

* * *

At dinner that evening, the Potter-Weasleys are causing a ruckus; not a particularly uncommon occurrence. I muse over my mashed potatoes about how odd it is that a bunch of teenagers can be all at once like celebrities and normal people. Of course, the rest of the school is pretty used to their presence by now- it had been coming up six years since James Potter, the apparent leader of the clan, had entered Hogwarts. Though a few less conspicuous figures had passed through bearing the surname Weasley before him that was when things really started to liven up (or so I have gathered – being in the same year as Potter I have never known a Hogwarts without him.) I know Molly Weasley, two years older than me, is pretty nice. She helped me fish my broomstick out of a tree when I was in second year, and there was nothing remotely celebrity-ish about her. Just a nice, fairly quiet, bookish girl with a soft spot for kids younger than her.

Others are far more intimidating. Dominique Weasley (who is currently shrieking loudly at some comment made by a member of her large family, her voice filling the hall) is a year below me, and Merlin, she scares me. You know those people who are so fantastically glamorous that they seem almost other-worldly? Yeah, that's what she is. She always has a faint look of discontent about her, as though the world is not quite living up to her expectations.

It might seem odd to spend my dinner mulling over a bunch of kids I barely know, but really, that's all part of the Hogwarts experience. Big old castle, giant squid in the lake, Hagrid in his hut, and celebrity kids in the dinner hall, dominating the Gryffindor table. The majority of the school knows…well, most, if not all, of the Potter-Weasleys by name, but I doubt if they know between them more than a dozen names outside their own house, and that's including the few of their family that slipped through the net. They are just so wrapped up in their little world of their own family- the sort that look out for each other, and defend their ranks from the rest of the world with a kind of fierce resilience that's taught others not to mess with them. They _know_ things, too- about Hogwarts, about magic, things that others don't seem to. It was by observing James Potter and Fred Weasley from a distance that I discovered the shooting-a-twig-at-the-right-knothole (with a depulso) trick to sedate the Whomping Willow. I have spotted various members of the family disappearing into previously unsuspected secret passageways, and using spells I certainly don't recognise, and can't find in any book. No, it is _not_ creepy how much I notice them. Most people do, although perhaps I watch them more that some.

Truth be told, they fascinate me.

I suppose most schools have their group of "populars"- my mother certainly told me that when she was at Beaubatons there was always the tightly knit "cool" group, whom most (most of those not in the group, of course) regarded with a certain amount of suspicion. But there's something different about the Potter-Weasleys. Every house has its own little friendship group of Populars- I am unfortunate enough to share a dorm with some of those in my house- but the Potter-Weasleys are above that. They're real people, right enough, and aren't afraid to show it, but there's a kind of… guardedness about them. They're polite enough to those around them, and they certainly have friends outside of their own family, but it seems definitely to be a family first kind of scenario.

Perhaps that's the reason they catch my attention so much. Their sense of belonging must be so strong, they never feel alone.

That night, I attempt to write a diary again. I have never had much success with the "Dear Diary, today I realised I fancy such and such, I ate cheese on toast and had a fight with my best friend, she is such a bitch" way of doing it. Each diary entry I try is different (and invariably several months apart) as I am always searching for some way to make myself actually stick to it. This time I try lists of things that are important to me.

 _People_

 _Mother_

 _Abigail_

 _Graham_

The brevity of this list depresses me into hastily starting a new one.

 _Food_

 _Jacket potatoes with cheese_

 _Lemon tart_

 _Spaghetti bolognaise but with the twirly pasta instead of spaghetti_

 _Tomato and basil soup_

 _Seafood risotto, with no green pepper and extra prawns_

 _Chocolate brownie with icecream_

 _Fizzing Whizbees_

 _Iced Butterbeer_

 _Shepherd's Pie_

 _Battered fish_

 _Battered sausage_

 _Chips_

 _Burgers_

 _Crisps_

I am interrupted before I have got properly started however, by the entrance of the four other girls in my dorm. The Slytherin girls' dorms are never nice places to be if you are a social outcast, and I whip my diary away under my pillow in case it is noticed. However, the four of them are far too engaged in their own conversation to notice me.

"You have _got_ to be kidding. Fred Weasley? I thought he, like, _never_ dated seriously. He's always been a love-em-and-leave-em type, right?" That is Alyson Parkinson, blonde haired with a constant expression of slight distaste at the world around her.

"Well, you would know, Ally. Didn't you hook up with him last year?" short, slightly rounded Brenda Stayman inquires.

"No, two years ago. It was fourth year. I wanted James Potter, but he just doesn't date at all, so I settled for his cousin."

"Anyway," Zoë Krinoshey impatiently brings the discussion back to what was evidently the point. "Fred Weasley is in a committed relationship with Sadie Langton? Are we absolutely sure on this point?"

"I had it from her sister's best friend," confirms Dahlia Nott. "Together for a month now."

At this point I tune out. Their gossip is just excessive.

Nevertheless, due to my _slight_ Weasley-Potter obsession (and the fact that I share Arithmancy classes with both of them) the next day I do happen to notice something of a tenderness between the two in question. Professor Vector is ill, and for some _unfathomable_ reason they have got Professor Trelawney to fill in our NEWT class- she claims that it's better than the randomer the kids lower down the school are getting, since she took Arithmancy NEWT level, but I have my doubts. I took Divination for 5 years at OWLs- never again. Needless to say, by the time 40 minutes of the hour long lesson has elapsed, I have given up all hope of paying attention to her wittering voice (it is last lesson of the day, after all) and am observing Fred and Sadie detachedly over the top of my textbook, simply for lack of anything better to do. It's not as though Anna Parker, the tagalong in a Ravenclaw trio (all trios have two best friends and a tagalong, from my observation) who only ended up sitting next to me at the paired desks because Fiona Williams and Dianne Boot took the pair in front together, is going to want to play noughts and crosses or anything.

Fred seems a decent enough sort, but I wouldn't have expected him to go for Sadie, somehow. She's a bit too… nice, in an irritating kind of way. Damn. I realise that I barely know the girl, and I'm passing her off as irritating just like that. I wonder gloomily if I am just as bitchy as Alyson Parkinson on the inside, I just don't have anyone to let it out to, outside of my own consciousness.

 _A quarter through the year resolution, be less judgemental._

Maybe everyone is actually this judgemental in their heads, and the important part is not to say it out loud? This thought cheers me somewhat. Until I glance sideways at Abi and Graham sharing the double desks adjacent to mine, and my heart sinks. Abi, the picture of concentration and the personification of goodness, has surely never had an unkind thought in her life.

Yeah, I'm basically just a shit person.

My mood plops down between my toes, and I contemplate how not-worth-living life is.

At the end of class, Abi comes over to me, looking concerned. "You doing okay there, Sue? You look pretty black."

I shrug away from her, packing up my things very slowly to avoid eye contact. I don't want to inflict my low mood on the two of them. "You go ahead. I'll catch up."

When she lingers, I grind my teeth and deliberately spill my ink all over the desk. "Blast it," I mutter unconvincingly. "No, I'll stay and clean it up. I'll see you later."

I don't, of course. I skip dinner- not hungry- and I'm still feeling too down to bother anyone with my depressing presence when curfew rolls around. I lie awake a long time after the chattering of my dorm-mates has turned to snoring.

The next day starts as badly as the previous one had ended. I've just finished getting ready for the day when Zoë oh-so-sweetly offers me her hairbrush and inquires as to whether I have lost mine. My hair is short and coarse, difficult to manage, and looks even worse in contrast to my too-thin face. I turn her kind offer down without starting a fight, for Brenda and Dahlia are hovering nearby looking hopeful, and tie it back roughly.

I avoid Graham and Abi all day, not having the energy to pretend. I skive off Herbology to keep out of Abi's way, and fortunately I don't have Ancient Runes today so Graham is easy to avoid, and I skip breakfast and lunch by clearing out my entire sweet stash and hiding in my dorm to eat them- mercifully empty since the other girls are out and about. It's not until Arithmancy, once again the last lesson of the day, that I see either of them.

I slip in at the last minute and sit on the other side of the classroom to normal, hoping to go unnoticed, for I am no less low and miserable than I was in the morning. Abi waves at me to try and get my attention, but Vector, now apparently recovered, tells her to sit down and get out her textbook.

At the end of class, however, Abi marches over and takes my arm. "I know that face," she tells me warningly. "No, you may _not_ slip off to sulk in a corner. Whatever is wrong (and you can tell me, but only if you want to) we are taking you to the Hufflepuff table and you are eating with us at dinner and we are going to _cheer you up._ " Abi has somehow at some point achieved speaking in brackets; I'm sure most people only do that in their thoughts.

I open my mouth to protest, and she adds, "So there." and marches me off, shepherding Graham before her.

Despite my protests that the other Hufflepuffs are bound to object to a Slytherin being brought into their ranks, my perfectly valid point appear to fall on deaf ears. "It's not like you've never come into the common room before, and you've eaten with us at the Puff table," points out Graham helpfully.

"Yes, but that was for special occasions, like at in the Christmas holidays when the common room and table are basically empty anyway!" I growl.

It is not as bad as I expect; none of the Hufflepuffs seem to give a toss whether I sit with them or eat with them. Admittedly Graham and Abi sit on either side of me at dinner, so if any of their housemates aim to fastidiously avoid sitting next to me I wouldn't notice, but nevertheless the badger territory seems a good deal more laid back that the Slytherin Common room, which I avoid at all costs. They succeed in lifting my low mood for several hours, laughing and teasing each other and me, and by the time I slip away to bed, just before curfew, it actually feels like things might be going to be all okay in the end.

* * *

When I wake up in the morning, it is 5:30am and the low, sunken feeling has taken hold of me again, and I am aware that if I don't get up and start moving I may start to cry. I still haven't got the hang of that _muffliato_ charm I paid Lily Potter to try and teach me- worst three sickles I ever spent- so the last thing I want is for Alyson, Brenda, Zoe or Dahlia to wake up and overhear my snuffling. I dress as quietly as I can, and grab my Lightening 650. I am creeping out of the dorm room within 15 minutes.

Thanking my stars that my common room is only five minutes from the viaduct entrance, I reach the large wooden doors. They are partially open, a precaution I discovered in _Hogwarts: A History_ which is considered necessary for evacuation in case of magical catastrophe. The viaduct, a large stone bridge, stretches away in front of me, but I don't bother to cross it. Instead, I kick off on my broom, and within seconds I am floating amongst the rooftops.

This is what life is really about. I start off with a few simple flips, focussing on the points of contact, or rather, what would be contact if I were doing a cartwheel on the ground rather than a flip on a broom in the air: nose down, brush up and over, brush down, and bounce. I then allow myself to become a little more adventurous, gripping the broom with only one hand and one ankle hooked around it, and using the other two limbs to create enough momentum to swing myself right around underneath the broom and back up again, so I finish sitting astride it. These tricks are easy- I had them mastered by the time I was 14 years old- and the almost effortless success gives me the rush I need to work up the courage to do what I have been meaning to do for a while.

I manage to manoeuvre myself, with slightly shaking legs, into a standing position on the broom. My balance is fair, but the broomstick is narrow and rounded, so it is hard to stay upright. Nevertheless, I manage to straighten my legs, spread my arms wide, and jump.

Air rushes past me as I plummets downwards, blinding me, crushing me, possessing me. Somewhere I hear a strangled cry, although I don't remember opening my mouth. Then, with a sudden _oof_ the wind is knocked out of me as the Lightening 650 catches me, swaying downwards under the force of me, but sturdy and dependable. I clutch at it, relieved.

The Lightening 650 is not only the top broom for reacting to magically extended willpower (something easily achieved if one only follows the instructions in the accompanying manual) as well as simple touch; it also has an entirely new safety feature. It senses body heat and magical resonance which is emitted from every witch and wizard- a relatively new discovery- and is programmed to follow it and sense whether or not the body which mounted it is still riding it. The upshot of all this is, it can tell if you've fallen of, works out where you are, and follows you faster that you can fall to slip underneath you and catch you before you have fallen more than a few feet. Something to do with the shape of the magical resonance means it can work out exactly the right position to slip into so it lands between your legs (snigger snigger) and you are able to grab onto it.

This is all very nice, and useful for quidditch games which you anticipate becoming a little rough, but my interest in it lies in the way this feature can be manipulated to perform a rather impressive stunt. Personally, I call it "The Suicide."

Winded and breathless, but triumphant, I guide my faithful Lightening towards the roofs, now slightly above me as a result of my intentional tumble. I need somewhere to sit down, and despite the cushioning charm on my broom, my bum cheeks are starting to ache.

I aim for a favourite spot of mine, a wide windowsill of a boarded up window, hooded by a sort of extra bit of roof- it is somewhat like a gable, but the window is set back inside it, leaving something similar to a mini porch. I store apples and a blanket in one corner, and often sit in it when I need a rest after a vigorous session of broom stunts. Quite possibly climbing on the school roof is banned- I have certainly never seen anyone else do it- but I have never bothered to find out.

This bold claim, that I have never seen anyone else climbing the Hogwarts roofs, is shattered some thirty seconds later when I arrive at my little hideout, and find it already occupied.


	2. Chapter 2: Encounters of the Potter Kind

James Sirius Potter (so I looked up all their full names, sue me) (Sue me? Right?) is not the sort of person one expects to see alone. It's just not his natural environment; his natural environment is undoubtedly a swarming crowd of family and close friends, or else the company of his trusty partner-in-crime and cousin Fred Weasley. So to run into him alone is startling; to happen across him alone, on the school roof, without a broomstick or other plausible method of transport in sight, is nothing short of astounding. Truth be told, I almost fall off my broom again.

"Don't fall!" he exclaims inanely as my broom judders at my momentary loss of balance. "I thought you were a goner back there for a second," he adds nonchalantly. "When you jumped off your broom, I mean. Pretty neat trick."

"You were watching me?" My brain scrambles to keep up, but at the same time a part of me is coolly observing him, noticing the tremors in his limbs, his clenched fists, and his dilated pupils. "Wait, was that you who yelled?"

"I thought I was watching you commit suicide," he retorts defensively.

"Huh. Yeah, haven't got there yet." We both fall silent. I am still hovering outside my alcove, and Potter is still occupying it, hunched up uncomfortably. He seems suddenly to realise something.

"Hey, are these your apples? You come here a lot?"

"Why, Potter, are you chatting me up?" I respond wickedly, and he flushes.

"You know my- oh, yeah. Of course you know my name."

"Modest, too," I remark, as though to a third party. "Look, shove over, will you? I'm going numb." He obediently shuffles far enough back and sideways further into the alcove to allow me to climb in and park my broomstick in a gutter just below the opening. "Apple?"

The munching sounds are the only thing breaking the awkward silence until I think to ask, "How did you get up here, anyway?"

"Flew," he says, looking shifty.

"Oh yeah sure, sorry, I didn't notice the wings," I respond caustically, and he scowls.

"Look, I'm not going to just – who are you, anyway?" he snaps.

"Your worst nightmare," I whisper dramatically, and roll my eyes at his sulky expression. "Sue Barnthorpe. Sixth year Slytherin. I was in all your potions and defence classes for the first five years of our magical education."

"Yeah, well–"

"I know, I know. You meet tons of people, all want a piece of Potter. We all know the drill."

He falls silent for a second. "I dropped my broom," he says eventually.

"You did _what_?"

Bit by bit it comes out. He was trying to fly, but because he's crap at it he couldn't go down and kept going up instead. ("I'd never noticed you can't fly," I blurt out, and regret it when he gives me a strange look.) He panicked when he got to roof level, and lost his grip. Just managed to catch hold of the tiles and haul himself up. Tried getting through the boarded up window, but found it magically reinforced beyond his capability to undo. Had been sitting in my alcove wondering what to do for about half an hour when he spotted me.

By the time all this has come out it has started to rain- bloody April showers- but fortunately the wind direction is on our side, and the alcove protects us. "Why were you trying to fly anyway, if you're so bad at it?"

"Something to do," he shrugs. These bloody Gryffindors.

"Well, it's now- blimey, nearly seven, so I reckon I'll be heading back. Want a lift, Boy-Who-Fell-Off-His-Broom?"

Potter frowns at this uninventive reference to his father's nickname. "I need to get my broom back," he hedges. "I checked it out of the school broom shed, and if someone notices it's missing they'll know it was me."

"And how the hell are you going to manage that?" I enquire politely. He doesn't answer. "Look, if you will just let me take you down to the ground I'll come back later when it's not raining and see if I can find the damn thing." I lean over the edge and fish my own broomstick out of its gutter.

"Why do you care?" he wants to know tersely.

"Because I can't leave you stranded on the bloody roof," I say incredulously. "What if you fall and break your precious neck? Just get on the broom, will you?" I sit on the edge, legs dangling off the side straddling the broom, and pat the free space behind me impatiently. Unwillingly he moves awkwardly forward, crouches over the broom, and places his hands gingerly on my shoulders. I take off with a slight jerk, and suddenly we're hovering in mid-air and James Potter has his arms wrapped so tightly around my stomach that he's restricting my breathing. His own breathing is coming in sharp bursts as he buries his head in my back. Potter's afraid of flying.

He clambers off ungracefully when we reach the ground, and retches unattractively, staggering towards a covered walkway to escape the rain. "Doing alright, Potter?" I ask gruffly, but he seems to think I'm being flippant, as he glares at me ferociously.

"If you tell anyone, I'll…"

"Set Daddy on me, I suppose," I say boredly. "Don't worry, kid, your secret's safe with me. As long as you don't annoy me, of course."

"Set Daddy on you?" he repeats incredulously. "What do you think I am?"

I examine him carefully; his outrage seems genuine. "Perhaps not a snitch then," I admit. "What _were_ you going to threaten me with then, Potter?"

"Oh, I'm sure I could think of something." He grins suddenly. "You do know who I am, after all, don't you?"

"Yeah, yeah. Look, I've got a free period second, so if it's stopped raining by then I'll go and have a look for that broom, and let you know at lunch?"

"You were serious about that? Thanks, man." He seems surprisingly grateful, but then I suppose another trip up to the roof might seem to him something of an ordeal.

"No worries, Potter."

"James."

I hesitate. "I suppose you should call me Sue, then." We shake on it, and go our separate ways.

* * *

Breakfast has already begun when I reach the Great Hall. It's still relatively empty, but regardless I don't stay to eat, opting to grap a couple of warm bread rolls and take them to my favourite bay window on the fourth floor. I eat slowly, watching the rain sweep relentlessly across the grounds, and gradually ease up. By eight o'clock it's beginning to look quite bright, and I head up to my room to shower and dress for Herbology.

Herbology is the one class I have with Abi and not Graham, and we meet outside Greenhouse 4 before going in together.

"Did you eat this morning?" she asks sternly, and cuts across my protesting confirmation to add, "And have you slept? You look like the walking dead."

"Yes," I say sulkily. "I woke up early and couldn't get back to sleep, that's all. I'll have a nap later." Just then, Professor Longbottom arrives, and Abi shuts up quickly, smiling at him. She's a bit of a suck-up, truth be told, which can make Herbology a little dull.

"Graham told me you were in the Willow again yesterday," Abi continues when we have been set our task (pruning Devil's Snare, and collecting the flowers), and everyone around us is talking.

"He told you?" I'm indignant. And after all that about hurrying away before she spotted us!

"Of course he did," she replies smugly. "Graham can never keep anything from me for long. Gerroff!" This last is addressed to the Snare, which has sneakily worked its way into her pony tail. Grateful for the distraction, I laugh at her as she wrestles with it.

"Heat and light, remember," I remind her teasingly.

"I'm not going to set fire to my own hair!" she retorts, still pulling at the Snare with her fingers. When these too become wrapped in its curling strands, and her hands are anchored to her head, I sigh and relent. Catching up an empty jar intended to contain the Snare's flowers, I pour blue magical flames into it from my wand, and seal it up. As soon as I hold the jar up close to the Snare, it shies away, loosening its grip on Abi.

"Bad plant," I tell it sternly, as it cringes back into its pot. I'm already back to pruning the sullen Snare, while Abi runs her fingers through her pony tail, when Professor Longbottom approaches.

"Ten points to Slytherin," he says unexpectedly. "An ingenious solution to the problem. Without the jar, those flames would certainly have set Miss Brown's hair alight."

"Thanks, sir," I say respectfully, and Abi beams, delighted for my sake.

"Anyway," she continues, when he has moved on, "I was just going to say be careful. I know you're good with plants, but the Whomping Willow could literally kill you."

"Yeah, sure." I pretend to take it lightly to wind Abi up, but she is right. It's just a nice place to sit, much more comfortable that most trees, and if you get up there while it's still immobilised and sit fairly still when it wakes up, it doesn't notice you.

I spend the remainder of the lesson teasing Abi, and am almost sorry when my free period comes around and she has to head off to charms. Remembering my promise to Potter, I head round the side of the castle to where the Slytherin dormitories are, and find the window to mine. Although the common room is entirely underground, the actual dormitories are at more of a basement level, and hence those on the edge have windows just above ground level. I unlock and open it, summon my Lightening, and kick off straight away.

The broom is easily found, lying on a flat roof of chimney pots just higher than my alcove, and within five minutes I am back on ground level. I decide to return it to the broom shed and then head straight back to my dorm for that nap; the exhaustion is really starting to catch up with me. However, my plan is foiled when I meet Potter lounging outside the broom shed.

"Hey!" he says cheerfully.

"Oh. Hey. What are you doing here?"

"Transfig was cancelled," he explains. "Fred went off to find his girl, so I thought I'd come and see how you were doing."

"I see. Well, I found it, so…" I wave the battered broom at him, and he takes it gratefully. "Why were you so bothered about it anyway?" My curiosity gets the better of me. "I didn't think you cared much about getting in trouble."

"Yeah, well…" he looks embarrassed. "I don't generally fly, is all, and the less people know about that episode the better, as far as I'm concerned."

I wonder why he's being so open with me, a Slytherin he's just met. "Well, like I said, as long as you don't annoy me I won't be telling anyone."

He grins at that. "Look, this might be a kind of personal question, but- uh, did you eat this morning?" What is it with people and my eating habits today? He must have spotted my chagrin, for he continues hurriedly, "It's just that I didn't see you at breakfast, and an apple isn't much to get you through the morning. And, uh, you helped me out so I guess we're mates now? If you wanted."

"You are _such_ a Gryffindor," I groan. "Okay, fine, we're mates. But that doesn't mean you have to check up on my eating habits."

"Mates look out for each other," he says stubbornly.

"Right. Sure. Well, if you must know, I had a couple of bread rolls, but I didn't stick around to eat them. Not fond of crowds. Or meals with other people. Happy now?"

He eyes me thoughtfully. "Not fond of crowds or meals with other people, eh? Look, I don't know if you're busy, but if not, there's something I could show you. To, uh, repay you for this morning I guess."

I waver- I really _do_ want that nap- but in the end curiosity wins out again. The Potter-Weasleys do know some interesting stuff, after all. It could be a set up, but then I do have something over him, which is comforting. I follow him, wondering when my life got this strange.

I allow him to lead me through a few corridors in the general direction of the Hufflepuff common room. We stop in front of a large painting of a bowl of fruit, and my suspicions grow. "Look, Potter, if this is some kind of joke…"

My voice trails off as he _tickles_ the picture. The pear giggles, swells into a doorknob, and the picture swings open. I stand frozen, astounded at the scene before me.

I come from the sort of family that is pureblood if you don't look too closely too many generations back. We certainly aren't the kind to have a house elf, and we haven't the money to employ any of the newly liberated ones. That being the case, I have never actually seen a house elf in real life before. And now, suddenly, dozens are bustling about in front of me. Several turn at our approach, and begin bouncing about in excitement. "Master James, Master James!"

"Some brownies, sir?"

"Pibbin will fetch Master James' favourite milkshake!"

Potter smirks at my expression. "No thanks, guys. I'm still pretty full from breakfast. Those fried eggs were _smashing_ \- Oggle, that must have been your handiwork? The pinch of garlic salt- _genius._ " The house elf in question turns a brilliant shade of red, and begins busying him or herself with a tea towel, thanking him profusely. "Could I have something for my friend here, though? She didn't eat properly at breakfast."

"Oh really," I begin, but I am cut off by Pibbin, who turns on me ecstatically.

"What would you like, Miss? Pibbin can help!"

"I – er – what do you have?" I manage weakly.

"Whatever Miss wants!" he says, beaming. Then, seeing my confusion, adds kindly, "Some fruit salad, perhaps? Coffee? Bacon? Pastries?"

"Some fruit salad would be lovely," I admit. "And it's Sue, by the way."

"Fruit salad coming right up, Miss Sue!" And then he disappears into the throng, and I am left to join Potter, who has already made himself comfortable at one of the tables.

"This is nuts," I tell him blankly, and he laughs uproariously. "Shut it, Potter. How did you know this was here?"

"James," he corrects, and then smiles mysteriously, tapping his nose. "I've got connections."

"Of course you have," I sigh. My fruit salad arrives, borne by a genial Pibbin. I take one bite, and groan softly, eyes falling closed. It tastes heavenly.

"Hot," remarks Potter, and I aim an unenthusiastic swipe at his head.

"So's your mum. Hey Pibbin, this is–" But Pibbin has gone, disappeared back into the swarm of busy elves.

"They love to be complimented, but they never hang around for it," Potter explains. "You have to catch them unawares."

"Like you did earlier."

"Yeah. Look, not a lot of people know about this place, but if having to eat in the Hall is stopping you, you should make use of it. The elves are happy to help at any hour – there's always some of them up. Don't try and offer to help though, that tends to offend them. They think it means you don't trust them to do a good job."

"Noted. Hey, Potter–"

"Will you drop that 'Potter' business?" he complains. "It's James."

" _Fine._ James. How do you know I won't just run off and tell all my Slytherin mates about this, and bring them all swarming in?" I'm curious; he's shown a surprising amount of trust in me, and he really doesn't know me that well.

"I don't- not really. But I don't think you will."

"Why not?"

"Well, for a start, I get the impression that you're quite a 'knowledge is power' kinda gal. I don't think you tell anyone things they don't need to know unless it benefits you, and if you don't like crowds, it definitely benefits you _not_ to tell anyone."

"And secondly?" I enquire, refusing to confirm or deny any of this.

"Uh, well… don't take this the wrong way, but I'm not sure you actually _have_ any mates. I've been thinking about it, and I know the other sixth years in your house, and I never see you with any of them. And besides," he adds, with a genuine smile, "If you want to go around telling people, that's your right."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I don't own the kitchens. I shared this with you to do with as you will. If you want to tell everyone," he shrugs, "that's your lookout."

"Huh." This is not an attitude I have encountered a lot. In Slytherin everything is a game of trades and barters, and to share a payment of a favour with someone else is seen as somewhat disrespectful to the giver, as though their offering is insufficient payment, as though they still owe you. And Graham and Abi, well, their typical Hufflepuff loyalty means they assume that if they tell you a secret you'll guard it with your life; that's what they'd do.

We sit and chat for a while longer, and James eventually gives in to the elves' relentless offers and requests a coffee. In fact, by the time I look at my watch, it's five to eleven. "I've got to get to Runes!" I exclaim in a panic.

"Oh Merlin." James checks his watch too. "I have to get to Astronomy- and it's ten minutes to the top of the tower at a run."

"See y'round, James!" I dash from the kitchen, fumbling with my wand to summon my textbook as I go.


	3. Chapter 3: Ehwaz

I'm five minutes late to Runes, and Graham rolls his eyes at me as he shoves his stuff over to make room. "Sorry, Professor Babbling," I murmur, settling down as quietly as I can.

She eyes me sternly, and then continues. "As I was saying, we'll be continuing our in-depth study of _ehwaz_ this lesson. I'd like you to share your research of the role of partnership in ancient pre-wand spellcasting with your neighbour, and in five minutes we'll feed back."

"What did you find out?" Graham asks politely.

"I didn't do it," I admit, ignoring his groan, "but I do remember reading about it last year I think, in some book I got out of the library. Doing spells with a partner used to be a useful way of channelling magic before wands were invented, right? And it generally worked best if you and your partner had some kind of connection? And as far as I remember, not only did being sexually involved make a strong magical connection, but also doing magic as a pair was often an aphrodisiac, so if a couple of people were performing magic as partners the likelihood that they had had sex at least somewhere along the way was-"

"All right, all right," Graham interrupts, looking reluctantly impressed. "How do you remember all that, if you read it a year ago?"

I shrug. "Just do, I suppose."

"Right. Well, do you remember what they used to do with _ehwaz_ to strengthen the spells?"

"I'm not sure that was actually in the book I read," I confess, and Graham looks smug. To wipe the smile off his face I say accusatorily, "And speaking of partners, I hear you went and told Abi about me being in the Willow again? You're the one who's supposed to be all up on psychology- couldn't you resist her for even one day?"

"It's not about psychology," he says, smiling gently. "I love her. I'm going to marry her. I tell her stuff."

"You're such a sap."

" _You're_ such a child."

The five minutes up, Babbling asks us about the history of partnership, and Keli from Ravenclaw shares everything I just told Graham, with a bit more besides. When Babbling asks about the use of the rune itself, Graham raises his hand with another smug look in my direction.

"Since the addition of runes changes the pronunciation of the spell, partners would say the spell slightly differently with the introduction of the _ehwaz_ rune, which strengthened the spell."

"For example?" prompts Babbling.

"Um… Alohomora is a general unlocking spell, and while more advanced locking spells than colloportus generally need specialised unlocking, a partnered _ehwaz_ Alohomora can unlock most locking spells better than a lone incantation, even with a wand."

"And do you know how an _ehwaz_ Alohomora is pronounced?" Babbling asks.

Graham screws up his face in concentration. " _Ah_ -lo- _hom_ -or-a?" he hazards.

"Excellent! Twenty five points to Hufflepuff, Mr Shaw. I can tell you've done your research."

"Allo Hommera?" I repeat in a whisper as she moves on. "Really?"

"Yeah- pretty cool, right?" Graham still seems immensely pleased with himself. "Only works if you do it as a pair though. Magic is wild."

"You tried it out with Abi yet then? I noticed the two of you were getting a bit –" I'm cut off by his elbow in my ribs, and have to gasp silently for breath.

* * *

I don't bump into Potter – James – for a few days, and I have almost forgotten about our encounters (except that I often use the kitchens instead of going to meals) when, bizarrely enough, Fred Weasley catches me after Arithmancy, instead of heading straight to lunch. Abi and Graham don't notice, and continue down the corridor, deep in conversation.

"Hey, you're Sue Barnthorpe, right?"

"Who wants to know?" I ask suspiciously, but he brushes that off.

"Listen, James told me what you did for him, and I just want to say thanks, and if you ever need anything… you've got a friend in Fred Weasley, anyway."

"Thanks, I guess," I respond, mildly alarmed at this. "I'm surprised you know, actually- I thought James didn't want to tell people about it."

"Babe?" Sadie Langton has appeared, and is looking questioningly at her boyfriend.

"Look, gotta go- I mean it though! Anything at all." He grins, and is gone. Shaking my head, I make my way downstairs and out into the unconvincing April sunshine. I decide to sit on the grass, having eaten in my free period earlier, and get out my Runes textbook, some parchment and the best of intentions. By the time Abi and Graham join me, however, I am lying on my front, doodling.

"Doesn't look much like _fehu_ to me," Graham comments, coming up beside me unexpectedly. We had moved on from _ehwaz_ the previous lesson.

"Well, I'm not exactly having much 'luck' with this assignment," I remark, and he laughs appreciatively.

"You Ancient Rune scholars and your exclusive Rune jokes," says Abi crossly. She sits down next to me, and spreads some leaflets on the grass on front of her.

"What are those, Abs?" I abandon my doodles, and sit up.

"Professor Macmillan gave them to me," she replies eagerly, black mood blown away in an instant. "They're career leaflets."

"Eurgh!" cries Graham dramatically, dropping the one he had picked up as though it had burned him.

"Still trying not to think about the future, eh Gray?" I ask with a smirk. " _Dragon Training_? Really, Abi?"

"I think I'd quite like to join the DMLE," Abi says thoughtfully, ignoring us. "I couldn't be an auror with only four NEWTs, but I like the idea of dealing with the day to day criminals- bringing justice to the people, y'know."

"What do they want you to have, grade-wise?" Graham inquires.

"At least an E in defence, and 3 other NEWTs. And hey, listen to this-" she reads aloud: "'Although not compulsory, Muggle Studies is welcomed and often aids applications to the training program'!"

"Sounds perfect for you!" exclaims Graham, excited for her.

"Definitely go for it, if that's what you want," I add.

"My girlfriend, the Magical Law Enforcer." Graham sounds speculative, as though trying it out. "It'll be great fun to introduce you at parties, especially if people have already started smoking gillyweed."

"What do you want to do, Sue?" Abi asks, smacking him.

"I guess I'll probably join a Herbology company, if any will have me. It'd be cool to be supplying ingredients for a top potions lab, I suppose. Or…" I trail off.

"Or what?" Graham looks up, interested.

"Well…it's kind of silly really."

"I'm sure it's not," Abi encourages. "Go on, tell us."

"Okay." The temptation to share a previously entirely secret ambition gets the better of me. "Well, I'd really like to be a Figure-Flyer." Taking in their shocked expressions, I add hastily, "But I'd never be good enough to support myself on it. All the best Flyers have been trained professionally, and I'm just self-trained. And I could never afford Figure School, so…"

"Hang on," interjects Graham, "is this Figure Flying like figure skating? Doing tricks on a broom, basically?"

"Yeahhh." I meet their eyes, embarrassed. "It's just a silly dream, really."

"I didn't know you were into flying!" declares Abi, half indignant, half enthused. "You'll have to show us some time!"

"Ah, I don't know…"

"Hang on, is this what your drawing is about?" Graham holds up my discarded parchment questioningly. My doodle, which I had animated with a tap of my wand, shows a stick figure whizzing across the page on a broom, standing up on it, and then plummeting downwards. The broom does not follow the figure as in The Suicide, however, and the figure disappears off the page before the doodle resets. I snatch the parchment back.

"Is there a scholarship?" Abi asks. "For the Figure School, I mean?"

"Yeah, but I'd never get it. You have to be an absolute genius on a broom."

"You should go for it anyway," urges Abi. "You never know if you don't try."

"Sue!" It's James Potter. Again. What is it with this guy? "I've been looking for you," he pants as he jogs up. Graham's eyebrows shoot up, and out of the corner of my eye I see Abi's mouth drop slightly open.

"Hey P –James," I respond, going for casual.

"Look, Fred's turning seventeen this weekend, and we're throwing him a surprise party on Saturday. Want to come?"

I gape at him. "I- er- _huh_?"

"Don't worry about it being all Gryffindors," he assures me. "My brother's in your house, and we've got a couple of other changelings scattered about, so there should be a bit of a mix. We're all inviting people we trust not to, uh, be a dick about it- Fred's pretty much a 'the more the merrier' sort of dude- so I thought…"

"Um…"

"Oh, and you needn't worry about it being overcrowded, either- where we're having it, that shouldn't be an issue." He shoots me a sly grin. "You can bring your friends too," he adds, and turns to Abi and Graham for the first time, who quickly shut off their gormless expressions. "Abigail Brown and Graham Shaw, right? From Defence?" They nod their affirmation of this, and he looks back to me. "Let me know, anyway."

"Yeah, sure," I answer, a little hoarsely, a voice inside my brain going _what the hell, what the hell, what the hell_.

He heads off, but then looks back before he's out of earshot. "By the way, Sue, I guess I owe you an apology."

"Huh?"

"Looks like you do have some friends, after all." And with that he prances away, off on some other errand. I look apprehensively at Graham and Abi.

"Explain," is all Abi says.

* * *

"Absolutely we are going to this party!" declares Abi, and apparently that settles it. "I've heard the Potter-Weasley's give the best parties- they know all the secrets of the castle, apparently, so they can get away with loads more than most people. And now you're evidently in with their crowd, we are not passing up this opportunity."

"I'm not – 'in with their crowd'," I splutter uncomfortably. Abi had not responded well to the vagueness of my explanation for my friendship with James; "I just did him a favour, that's all," had not satisfied her curiosity, and as soon as she managed to get rid of Graham she had asked, entirely seriously, whether I meant a sexual favour.

("GROSS! NO!"

"Well, I had to ask."

"No Abigail, you did not."

"Tell me what it was, then."

"I can't Abi, he asked me not to. I guess he found it embarrassing or something."

"And it definitely wasn't sexual?"

" _NO._ ")

Anyhow, Abi tells both Graham and me unequivocally that we are going, and so, having informed James, I find myself in Abi's room at nine o'clock on Saturday night.

"Are you sure you won't let me put any more makeup on you?"

"I've put on mascara, eyeliner and lipstick- what more do you want from me?"

"Well…" she says slowly, but I cut her off.

"Rhetorical question, Abs."

"I just envisioned a bit more dressing up," she says reluctantly. "Girly time, you know. Doing each other's hair. Doing the zips of each other's dresses up. It's our first proper party really- quidditch after-parties don't count because that's just a lot of smashed quidditch players going over the game play by play, and the music's always shite."

"I don't own any nice dresses," I say, again.

"I know, I know." She sighs.

"Are you birds done up there?" demands Graham from downstairs.

"Don't be sexist," snaps back Abi instantly. "You done, Sue?"

"For the last half hour," I patiently remind her.

We make our way to the seventh floor. Our instructions are to wait by the portrait of Dobby the Daring, where we will be called for. After about three minutes of shifting anxiously from foot to foot, James appears from the gloom, and I silently sigh with relief. His face breaks into a wide smile when he sees me, and he murmurs, "You came!" He leads us further down the corridor until we reach a tapestry of what seems, at a cursory glance, to be of a bunch of trolls in tutus. James paces up and down, muttering, and Graham has just turned to me as if to ask what is going on (as if I know) when a door appears in the wall opposite. "Excellent!" James beams, and leads the way.

If it wasn't wild enough that there is a secret room that I've never come across before, the room itself is incredible. It's huge and spacious, with large (if admittedly rather gaudy) red and gold Gryffindor hangings, clusters of low comfy sofas and a proper dance floor at the far end, and drinks tables at regular intervals around the edge. There must be twenty or thirty people occupying it already, but it's certainly not crowded. There even seems to be a door opening to the outside, with a wide balcony beyond it, unlikely though it might seem.

"Welcome," says James grandly, "to the Room of Requirement." While we are absorbing this, he turns to me and adds gently, "Don't feel like you have to stay if it gets too much. There's plenty of space, but nobody will mind if you just want to be alone and have to slip away. Can you do a disillusionment charm?" This last is addressed to all three of us.

"Yeah," we chorus.

"Great. If you could do that before you leave, or else find one of my family to do it for you, that would be helpful for the whole 'staying hidden' thing." Turning to me again, he continues, "See you later, yeah? Some more people are arriving. We're fetching Fred at 9:30."

"See you later," I echo, wonder how he knows people are arriving. He smiles at me, and heads off. I catch Graham and Abi exchanging a mysterious glance, but decide to ignore it. "Alcohol," I tell them firmly, and they laugh at me.

It is an evening of strange conversations, which I have to sort through the next morning, hazed as they are in my memory by the alcohol. First is Abi, who sends Graham off for refills of our drinks and grabs me.

"Do you like Potter?" she wants to know gravely.

"Who, James?" I'm taken aback. "You mean, like, fancy him?"

"Yeah."

"No, I- it's not like that," I explain, avoiding her eye and highly embarrassed by the subject of conversation. "I barely know the guy, to be honest. I did him a favour, and he seems to be blowing it way out of proportion."

"And you're not just saying that to get me off your back?" she asks, eyes narrowed.

"I'm really not," I promise.

"You need to watch it, then," she says unexpectedly. "I'm not saying he fancies you, but there's a good chance he does or will soon, from what I've observed."

I gape at her. "I don't think he dates," I eventually manage weakly.

"He _hasn't_ dated. That doesn't necessarily mean he wouldn't, if he found the right person. Sure, he might be aromantic or gay or whatever, but you can't just assume that if there's a chance of someone getting hurt."

Graham's arrival with the drinks forestalls any comment, but it leaves me with plenty to think about.

The second conversation is with Albus Potter. It perhaps only twenty minutes after Fred's arrival, and inexplicably I am standing with Fred and Albus while Abi and Graham are on the dance floor. "This is Sue!" Fred exclaims boisterously to Albus. "Have you met Sue? Sue's great!" Then he bounds away, leaving me alone with Albus.

"You're Sue Barnthorpe?" he slurs- he's a slight fifteen year old and evidently has trouble holding his liquor. "Listen, I heard what you did for my brother, and I've gotta thank you." He blinks, and nods emphatically. "You can count on me, or any of us really, if you need anything."

"I can, can I?" I ask a little sharply. He seems to notice, and backs away mumbling something about "...Rose."

Rose Weasley is the next on my list. She's less open about it, but when she hears my name she beams, and (a little sloppily) hugs me. Clearly she has heard what I "did for James" too. I decide it's time to confront James about it- after all, it's pretty hypocritical of him to swear me to secrecy and then go spouting off to everyone he bumps into. On my search I encounter Dominique Weasley, who foils my efforts to avoid her (she still scares me) and marches up to me.

"You've got allies in all the Potter-Weasley's, myself included," she tells me abruptly. "As long as you stay quiet, anyway." She gives me a hard look.

"Yeah, sure. Look, do you know where James is?" She points me, a little reluctantly, in James' direction; I can't tell if she's taken in by my false bravado. He's standing at one of the drinks tables, chatting to some seventh years I know only by sight.

"I need to talk to you," I announce grimly, taking his elbow and towing him away from the table, the firewhiskey I've drunk making me more bold than usual. The seventh years whistle at us and one makes a lewd remark, but James hexes him casually before turning to me.

"What's up, Sue?" he asks, concerned.

"What's up," I say angrily, "is that you told me not to tell anyone about your little broomstick excursion, and yet everyone in your family seems to know about it! How's that for hypocrisy?"

He doesn't rise to it, but just regards me thoughtfully for a moment. "They already know that I can't fly," he explains, lowering his voice. "They had to- most of them are on their various quidditch teams, or at least play in the holidays. There was no way I could keep it from them."

"Then who the _hell_ am I keeping it a secret from, if half the school knows?" I demand.

"Half the school _doesn't_ know," he responds, his tone rising. "Only my family. They…understand about secrecy."

"And why does it have to be a secret?" I ask snidely. "As if anyone cares whether you can ride a broom."

"Someone might," he returns quietly. "My dad has a lot of enemies. There have been three attempts on his life just since I started school. Someone tried to get to him through me before I was one year old." He shakes his head, and suddenly looks far older than seventeen. "If it got out that Harry Potter's eldest can't fly- well, that's a major weakness, Sue. Key information to have when planning a kidnapping. Being able to fly is a vital safety requirement for someone in my position, because it's much harder to make an area imperturbable to brooms than it is to raise some quick anti-apparition wards."

"Oh." I feel foolish and very young.

"My family all knows because we help to keep each other safe- Albus, Lily and I are the main targets, closely followed by Rose and Hugo, so the others have to know what not to say in front of other people to avoid revealing our weaknesses to the wrong person."

"Look James, I'm really sorry…"

He steps closer, but not intimidatingly; it seems tipsy James just doesn't have a great grasp of personal space. "So you see, it really is important that you don't tell anyone," he concludes.

"I- I won't," I stammer. "I haven't. I swear, James –"

"I know," he says, smiling. "I knew I could trust you." He envelops me suddenly in a hug, and after a moment of astonishment I hug him back. We stand there for a while, just holding each other, as I try to take in this new information.

Eventually I pull back. "I should find Abi and Graham," I saw awkwardly, although honestly they'd probably prefer to be alone together.

"Sure. See you later?"

"Yeah."

* * *

The final strange conversation is not one I have, but one I overhear. I'm sat beneath a drinks table for a breather (too many kissing couples on the balcony), hidden by the tablecloth, when I hear James' voice, along with a female voice that could potentially be Dominique.

"You're not into her, are you Jamie?" the girl sounds concerned.

"No, of course not. I just met her."

"That doesn't mean anything," the girl replies sharply.

"Well, I'm not into her _yet,_ then. Happy?" I don't hear a response. "And if I was, what of it?" James sounds defensive.

"It's just, well, she is a Slytherin after all. Are you really sure we can trust her?"

"Oh- for the love of Merlin, you're not still on the house prejudice train are you? Look, she's my friend and I care about her. And honestly, I worry a little bit about her. We can trust her. I'm sure of it."

The voices drift away, and I sit frozen under the table. _She's my friend and I care about her_. The words ring inside my head swimming head (definitely too much firewhiskey) and I can't repress a smile. But, much as I try to focus on that, I can't help remembering that _yet_.


	4. Chapter 4: All Sorts Of Families

I've never liked someone and had them like me back. My whole love life to date, such as it is, has been nothing but unreturned feelings on one side or the other. At least, as far as I know; my response to realising I'm into someone is generally to take it to the grave with me, so they might possibly have been interested if I'd had the courage to tell them. The only times anyone has shown blatant interest in me, however, I've not been feeling it.

The first time was in third year. Antonio Goyle, a year older than me, had paid me a lot of attention, but I managed to get it back to him through a chain of acquaintances that I wasn't interested, and so he quickly dropped it. The second was in fifth year; Alyson Parkinson's twin brother Thomas, of Ravenclaw, was my partner in Charms, and towards the end of the year he asked me out. I managed to let him down gently I think, but we were never that close, so it wasn't the end of the world.

I've never had to reject romantic advances from a friend before, and I really hope I won't have to now. I have few enough mates without losing one to the awkwardness of unrequited feelings.

A day or two after the party I find myself sprawled on the lawn in my free period, scribbling on some parchment and frowning thoughtfully. To avoid doing my Arithmancy homework, I am idly plotting ways that one might take advantage of an inability to fly in a kidnapping attempt, and hence how they might be foiled. For my own amusement I animate my doodled diagrams, and watch in amusement as hooded stick figures on broomsticks descend upon a quaking victim.

"Hey Sue!" says Potter cheerfully behind me, and I nearly jump out of my skin. It's the first time I've seen him since he explained the whole kidnapping thing, as I ended up slipping away from the party without talking to him again.

"I'm not kidnapping you!" I blurt out idiotically, and then clap my hand over my mouth. James frowns in confusion, but then spots the parchment. He picks it up and examines it, while I look away, mortified.

"Sue, what's this?" he asks kindly.

"It's not what it looks like," I promise. "I was just trying to work out how someone could kidnap a non-flyer, so I could think of how to stop them."

He smiles, and hands it back to me. "That's sweet, really, but my dad hires professionals to deal with our family security- they've been through all that before."

"Oh." I feel stupid. "It's just…well, have you tried using a house elf?"

James stiffens. "My family don't keep house elves."

"Neither do mine," I say hastily, "but I just thought, you could pay one to hang around and apparate you out of any anti-apparition wards. They don't work on house-elf magic."

"I know." He considers me for a second, but then his face softens. "It's a good thought, but it wouldn't be failsafe. I probably shouldn't tell you this- it's totally against protocol- but since the house elf liberation movement really took off, some of those who claimed their freedom have begun to sell the secrets of elfish magic, enough that new anti-apparition wards have been developed, that block house elves too."

"Oh, I see."

"It's cool that you were trying to think up ways to protect me though," he adds, with a wide smile. "Can you show me how you animate your doodles?"

I show him the spell, and he masters it fairly easily, and amuses us both with little moving images of dancing house elves, and a typical muggle "wicked ol' witch" stirring a bubbling cauldron and grinning evilly. He's surprisingly good at drawing, and his doodles are quite impressive. In the panic of potential misunderstanding, I had forgotten my fears about unrequited feelings. As I relax, they come flooding back, and for a minute I detach myself from the situation to observe it. He doesn't _seem_ to fancy me; doesn't even seem to have the potential for it even, despite what Abi might say. He's chummy and makes me laugh, but there's no awkwardly close proximity or lingering glances that I remember from the Thomas Parkinson incident. But why else, it occurs to me to wonder, is he here?

"You're looking at me strangely," he comments after a while. "What is it?"

"I'm not."

"Susie."

" _Susie?_ "

He chortles. "It's cute."

"It's not so bad, I guess," I allow. "Doesn't work too well with my mean, Slytherin image, though."

He swats me on the nose with the witch picture. "I'm serious though. What's your issue?"

"What's _your_ issue?" I counter.

"Sue."

"Fine." I relent. "Look, don't take this the wrong way, but…what are you doing here? All the years we've been at school you always seemed to just spend time with your family, especially Fred. And now you keep hanging out with some loner Slytherin chick?"

He frowns, and looks away.

"You've not had a fight with them, have you?" I ask.

"Nah." He sighs. "Fred's kind of busy with Sadie at the moment, and I actually don't spend all that much time with the rest of my cousins. They're good kids, but, you know…wrapped up their own teenage drama a lot of the time. We eat together at meals, but that's about it."

"That still doesn't explain the Slytherin loner bit," I observe, taking this in. "You must have other people you could be with."

He laughs. "You're not a loner!" Seeing my expression, he adds, "Well, okay, maybe a little. But you're a laugh, and I need to be around people who get the whole caution thing. Pretty much the first time I properly met you, you found out more about me than most of the rest of the school who I'm not related to. And you've not done anything with that information, so…" he shrugs. "I can relax around you, I guess."

"Okay." I'm a little embarrassed by this confession, but relieved at the same time. Nevertheless, I cannot for the life of me think how to respond to it.

As if he's read my thoughts, he adds, "And now you need to tell me something deep and touchy-feely so I don't feel like such a sap."

I snort, and reply, "Yeah, I think I'll pass on the _touchy-feely_ thanks, Potter."

He makes a face at me, and asks in mock affront, "Why Susie, are you not fatally attracted to me, swooning at my feet?"

I offer him a rude hand gesture, and he sniggers. "Come on, though. Tell me something a bit embarrassing."

"I don't _want_ to," I whine at him. "You're the one who's all into this opening up to people stuff. It's a wonder you're still single, boys are never usually this keen to talk feelings." Why did I say that? Why? What a _stupid_ and awkward thing to say. I just practically implied that he is, as Brenda Stayman would say, 'boyfriend material.' What if he takes it the wrong way?

"Barnthorpe. Spill."

I pull myself back to the conversation and sigh dramatically, trying to think of something. "Okay…well, even before I started talking to you, I used to kind of watch your family. Not in a creepy way," I add hastily, as his expression begins to morph into a smirk. "Just like… I find you all interesting, as a family. You're a kind of weird social phenomenon."

"Sounds pretty creepy to me," he says innocently, and I hit him.

* * *

The strangest thing about being friends with James is that the rest of his family really do seem to come with it. He may claim that they're not that close, but suddenly they all smile at me in the corridor, and Rose sometimes even waves. Albus chats to me in the common room from time to time, and Louis, also in Slytherin, has started coming to me for help on his Potions homework, having heard (evidently through James) that I take it at NEWT level. It's only third year stuff, pretty easy, and I find I quite enjoy teaching. Something to consider, that.

Rose is actually pretty fun. For all James calls his younger family "good kids", Rose, though only fifteen, seems pretty grown up. I've always got on better with people younger than me for some reason. One Hogsmeade trip, the last weekend before the Easter holidays, I bump into her in Flourish and Blotts- I've come on my own out of habit- and find her poring over a new novel by Hector Chanter that I've been dying to read. I almost don't go up and say hi, but she spots me over the top of the book and beams at me.

"I've come here especially to buy that one," I tell her, nodding towards to book.

"You read Hector Chanter?" she looks thrilled. "I hardly know anyone else who does. Did you read _The Thestral's Anthem_?"

"Brilliant book," I confirm, and she smiles even wider.

"Isn't it! I wish I could get _Goblin Ink_ ," she waves the novel slightly, "but I'm out of pocket money. I didn't realise it was out this month, so I hadn't started saving. It'll take me weeks to have enough, even if I do _tons_ of chores over the holidays."

This surprises me, though I don't think I show it. I'd assumed that Rose's parents were pretty well off, since her Mum's fairly high in the ministry. Perhaps they limit her pocket money to avoid spoiling her, though. "I'll have finished it in a couple of days, I'm sure, so you can borrow it after that if you like," I offer, and her face lights up. I rarely lend my possessions to other people, but it _is_ fairly uncommon to find a fellow Chanter fan, and I'm feeling quite uplifted by it.

"Thanks ever so, Sue. Hey, I'm meeting some of my cousins in the Broomsticks in a minute- join us!"

"I wouldn't like to intrude," I say uncomfortably, but she insists, and ten minutes later I find myself squashed up on a bench with Rose on one side of me and Louis on the other. This family is ever so pushy.

They all seem delighted to see me. It transpires that Lily, across the table from me, is also beginning to get into Hector Chanter, and shyly asks if she can read the blurb of _Goblin Ink_. Louis, Fred and Dominique immediately engage me in a conversation about quidditch which I struggle gamely to keep up with.

"James says you fly, Sue. How come you never joined the Slytherin team? The way this year is going we could have used you." This is Louis. Fred and Dominique jeer good-naturedly, but he insists on an answer.

"Uh, well… I don't work well in teams, I guess," I say somewhat guardedly. "Don't like having to rely on other people, you know." I avoid admitting that I have limited interest in quidditch, in case the questioning turns to what I do with my flying _instead_.

"You could be a seeker!" Louis persists eagerly. "They work alone a lot. Warrington's leaving next year, as well. You could try out in September!"

"Leave the girl alone!" Dominique says laughingly. "Hard though it may be to believe, it is possible to enjoy flying without particularly enjoying quidditch." Surprised by this defence, I smile at her gratefully, and she returns it, looking perhaps a little more human and a little less goddess than usual.

"Hey, I learned to whistle last weekend!" tiny Lucy pipes up. I believe she is a first year, the smallest of the family currently at school."

"That's great, Luce-goose!" James says enthusiastically from a little further down the table. "What can you whistle?"

As Lucy performs the final notes of _Happy Birthday_ , I remark idly, "I wish I could whistle."

"You _can't whistle?_ " James is incredulous, horrified. Then a grin spreads over his face. "What kind of seventeen year old can't _whistle_?"

"Leave her alone, Jamie!" Lucy leaps inexplicably to my defence. "You should get Molly to teach you," she confides, turning to me. "She managed to persuade McGonagall to let her take me out of school for my birthday last weekend, and she took me to a Muggle café for cake and taught me to whistle! She's ever so clever," she concludes admiringly.

"You're Molly's little sister?" I inquire, as another piece of the Potter-Weasley family puzzle slips into place. "How many years older is she?"

"Seven!" Lucy says proudly. "She and Mum and Dad wanted me for years before I was born. She can do anything!"

When we all make our way back up to the castle, I find myself walking beside James. "I could have used the perfect comeback about the not being able to whistle thing," I mutter to him, a little grumpy.

"I know," he rejoins cheerfully. "I knew you wouldn't though. You're too good a person."

"How dare you!" I turn away from him in faux offence, hiding a smile. "I am a mean, nasty Slytherin who just enjoys holding it over your head."

"Sure you are, Susie." There is a good feeling in the air, and seconds later when Rose crashes into us pursued by Hugo I think I get a glimpse of what it's actually like to be part of this strange, wonderful family.

* * *

The next day brings a letter, presumably from my mother, and Monday the departure of most of the school. I hug Graham and Abi goodbye, but don't see any of the Potter-Weasleys, apart from Lucy who waves cheerfully from the middle of her gaggle of first years all towing trunks. I avoid opening my letter, in case in contains a summons home, until I am sat at the bay window on the fourth floor, watching the horseless carriages draw out of the gates.

 _Susan,_

 _I have not heard from you yet this term, so I assume you are staying at school again for the holidays. I will be abroad for the duration of the week- probably Madrid- so if you need to tell me anything do use one of the long distance Post-Office owls rather than one of the school owls, won't you? I'd rather not find a half dead bird on my doorstep again because you made the stupid thing fly too far._

 _Send my regards to Zoë Krinoshey. I saw her mother last week; she looks as well as she did in our school days._

 _Mother_

I fold the parchment up blankly, and hug my knees. It's not that I particularly want to go home, but I have become accustomed in the last few months to my presence being wanted. The letter is a harsh reminder of reality, and I resolve to be tougher in future.

The first few days of the holiday pass in a blur. I fly, throw myself off my broom, and allow myself to be caught, again and again. The adrenaline helps me get through, helps me block the despairing self-hatred. On the Wednesday, unaccountably another _two_ letters arrive.

The first is from Abi. It is chatty, newsy, but overall could have been addressed to anyone. Graham has signed his name in a barely intelligible scrawl at the bottom, and added some contributions from his dad who likes to feel involved (mostly strange psychology stuff- he's a muggle therapist), but the main body is all Abi.

The second is from Potter-the-eldest, which is far more surprising.

 _Hey Sue!_

 _Didn't get a chance to say goodbye to you before we left. I had a look round the train, but I didn't see you- it is pretty big, after all. Hope you're having a good holiday so far!_

 _This is going to sound kind of random, but would you like to come round and hang out at mine sometime this week? Basically I mentioned you in front of my mum, and she got all excited- she's always going on about how she wishes Al and I made more proper friends outside the family- and wants to have you round for tea. Not that I wouldn't like you to come round! But I know you have issues with social situations. So, yeah. You're welcome but don't feel pressured. Whereabouts do you live? If you did want to come, you could get the Knight Bus or Dad could pick you up if it's not too far. The 'rents insist that I say: don't apparate unless you're totally confident, because splinching is very nasty._

 _Let me know!_

 _James_

I am in my nook on the roof when the handsome tawny owl delivers the letter, and I read it I something of a dream-like state. He has no idea I have stayed at school for the holiday; it occurs to me that such an idea must be quite foreign to him, with his swarming family, and I feel more isolated than I ever have in reaction to James Potter.

I don't answer either of the letters. I do intend to, and the reminder that either or both of the senders might wonder at my lack of response niggles at me, but instead I do what I do best and avoid. Once I nearly get as far as writing a polite decline to the invitation to visit the Potters, citing my aforementioned social problems as my excuse, but the dishonesty is acid in my mouth, and I throw the barely started letter in the fire.

Saturday rolls around, the day before the school's return. I try to read, but I am restless, and having finished _Goblin Ink_ earlier in the week I am stuck rereading familiar stories which cannot hold my attention in this mood. I visit the kitchens five times in the course of the day, and each time Pibbin looks more concerned, pressing steaming mugs of hot chocolate into my unresisting hand.

("Miss Sue would like chocolate sprinkles, perhaps? Or sugar sprinkles?"

"Maybe Miss Sue would like to try Pibbin's syrup sponge? It was intended for the Professor's table this evening, but if Miss would like some…"

"Marshmallows! These are the for certain the way to cheer Miss Sue up."

"If only Miss would _smile_ …")

And then it is Sunday morning, and I stay in bed all day, curtains drawn around my four-poster. I drift in and out of sleep, awaking at some point to the sound of Alyson and the posse clattering in, still loudly catching up. They ignore my curtained bed, for which I am profoundly grateful. Evening comes almost without me having noticed I haven't eaten anything.

I don't _intend_ to skip all my lessons the next day, but having not eaten in a day and a half I am feeling rather ill, and entirely lacking in motivation to do anything in particular. I send my apologies with a reluctant Zoë when she comes to pick up some books at lunchtime- our mothers did go to school together, so there is that faint, lingering loyalty there- and settle back to sleep again, blotting out the world.

I am awakened suddenly by a _crack_ , and in the dim light I see the unmistakeable silhouette of a house elf. On closer inspection, he is revealed to be Pibbin.

"Miss Sue has not been to the Hall or the Kitchen today," he announces. "Miss is ill? Pibbin has brought soup."

"Thanks, Pibbin," I murmur, taking the soup gratefully (chicken, by the smell of it.) "I am ill, yes. I could definitely use some soup though. What time is it?"

"It is twenty one minutes past six," he proclaims. "The other Misses and Masters of Slytherin House are all at dinner. Nobody to comfort Miss Sue in her illness."

"Oh, it's okay. The soup is really all-"

I am interrupted. "Pibbin knows what to do!" The elf disappears with another _crack_ , and I have barely taken three spoonfuls of soup when a third rends the air. Pibbin has returned, and with him is another familiar figure.

"Sue! You're…where am I? Pibbin, have you brought me to the _Slytherin girls' dormitory_?"

"Pibbin has brought company for poor sick Miss Sue," Pibbin explain, sounding highly satisfied. "Master James has already eaten. He shall cheer Miss up." And with that he is gone again.

"You're ill?" James seems bewildered, as well he might be. "I was just…and then Pibbin showed up…I'm in your _bedroom_." This seems to strike him more fully than before, and he backs away, almost tripping over some belonging or other of Brenda's. "I'm sorry, Sue. House elves don't always…I swear I didn't mean…"

"Oh, sit down and shut up," I manage at last. Of course Pibbin would bring me one of the people I was especially trying to avoid.

"But," he tries again, "if anyone sees me here it could be pretty bad for you; you know, rumours and that."

"Do you care about rumours?" I demand, sitting up slightly.

"No! But-"

"Well. Neither do I. Now I believe I told you to _sit down,_ and _shut up._ " He obliges, perching on the end of my bed and peering at me anxiously as I calmly eat my soup.

"You never answered my letter," he observes eventually.

"No," I agree.

"If you didn't want to come, you could have just said." He speaks gruffly, but it occurs to me that he might be offended, and I feel bad.

"Sorry. I just…communication. Not my strong point."

He laughs a bit at that. "Tell me more, Ravenclaw." There's another silence for a while before he makes another attempt at conversation. "How was your holiday, anyway?"

I consider this for a few seconds. "Uneventful." I can tell this won't satisfy him, however, so I make a sudden decision. "I was here all week, so I doubt I could have made it to yours. Not that good with with long distance apparition yet. Otherwise, uh, I'd have liked to have come."

He examines me, but does not show the surprise I assume he is feeling. "Why didn't you go home?" he asks eventually. "Graham and Abigail did, didn't they?"

I swallow down a defensive retort which rises in my throat. He's still watching me carefully, and although I know I could just downplay it- after all, though it's not common, I'm not the only one to stay for holidays- I am aware that I don't want to. At the risk of sounding melodramatic, it's a kind of battle going on in my head; my instinct to push away, always push away, fighting an unquenched human desire to share. To forestall the tears that I can feel rising, I give in to the latter. I reach into my bedside drawer and pull out my mother's letter, which I couldn't quite bring myself to burn, and hand it to James.

He reads it in silence; it doesn't take long. Then he looks up. "You don't get on well with your Mum?"

"She's not…it's not her fault," I say disjointedly. "She never wanted a kid. It was my dad who…but he died when I was little. She's a bit of a pureblood snob, which is totally stupid since I'm pretty sure we're not even completely pure blooded, and she hates that I wear muggle clothes and read muggle literature. I have to go to the library in my town secretly because if she knew she'd definitely take away my library card. She used to try more when I was younger, to do the mum thing, but it was always such an effort for her, and after a while I stopped letting her." To my horror, I feel tears threatening again, burning the corners of my eyes like onion juice. I turn my head away but to no avail; James is beside me in a second, and awkwardly puts an arm round me.

"Next holiday you can come and spend the whole thing with us, if you like," he says quietly, and that is the last straw. I sob into his shoulder, and he holds me as though I might break. After a few minutes my noisy weeping subsides into the odd sniffle, and I feel the familiar despondency begin to flood me again, but James is still there, rubbing my back reassuringly, keeping it at bay.

I am about to attempt a dry comment, when muffled sounds begin to float up from the common room; the return of the dining Slytherins. I stiffen at the distinctive tones of Alyson Parkinson, and the odd peace vanishes.

"Suddenly," I say, "I very much do care about rumours."

"Right. I'd best be off then." James gets up, makes for the door, but then stops when the noise begins to grow. Footsteps on the stairs?

"The window," I hiss, and with his help I post a wriggling James through the small window and out onto the grass. Absurdly I begin to cry again at the stress of it, and James looks torn.

"You shouldn't be alone," he tells me, crouching outside, feet level with my face. "I'll send Rose. Louis can let her in." With this parting promise bestowed (and protestingly refused) he heads off around the edge of the castle.

The approaching footsteps must have been for another dorm, for nobody enters until Rose slips in perhaps fifteen minutes later.

"You okay?" she asks uncertainly, hovering at the end of my bed, and I manage a sort of smiling half shake, half nod of my head. I pat the quilt next to me; honestly I'd rather be alone right now, but it does occur to me that James could have a point. I've been alone for a week, and a fat lot of good it has done me. Perhaps what I really need is a distraction.

"Hey, did you read _Goblin Ink_?" enquires Rose, suddenly animated, gesturing to the book on my nightstand. I smile genuinely and reach over to grab it, nodding.

"It definitely lives up to his previous ones, no doubt about it," I assure her. "You can borrow it now, if you like."

"Oh, yes please!" She bounces with excitement.

"The style's a little different from some of the previous ones," I warn, as she tucks it into the pocket of her robes. "It's brilliant, but don't expect it to be _The Thestral's Anthem_ or _Salem_ all over again."

"I've not read _Salem_ yet," Rose admits bashfully. "I only discovered him at Christmas when my Aunt gave me _Anthem_ , and since the school library's not great for fiction I've only managed to read that and _Seven Witches_."

"I've got them all- you can borrow them if you like," I say generously, and her face lights up.

"Oh, Sue!"

She stays with me until almost curfew, and it's astonishingly easy to talk to her. She chats about her holiday, and the stupid things her cousins got up to ("Fred took baby Roxy flying! Nearly dropped her fifty feet! I thought Auntie Angie was going to kill him!") and I drink it all in. In return, I tell her about travelling all over Europe when I was younger, which she seems enchanted by, having never been further afield than central France. I am light, buoyed up by her companionship, when I walk with her to the exit so she needn't brave the Slytherin Common room alone. As I turn back, I suddenly realise with absurd amusement that I am absolutely disgusting; I had barely noticed it in my semi-catatonic state. Cheerful in my solitude for the first time all week, I head off for an evening shower.


	5. Chapter 5: Futures

I find Abi and Graham at breakfast the next morning; it takes huge amounts of determination, for I'm still half in the "cut-myself-off-from-the-world" zone, but my evening with James and Rose has set me on the right path, and realistically I know it's impossible to keep out of their way for long.

"Sue!" Graham notices me first, and expresses uncharacteristic enthusiasm at my appearance.

"Susan Barnthorpe, as I live and breathe!" Abi's melodramatic greeting brings an unwilling grin to my face as I reach them at the Hufflepuff table. "Are you feeling better? Vector said you were off sick yesterday."

"Not dead yet, thanks," I confirm, accepting her hug as I slip in beside her on the bench. "How were your holidays?"

"Oh, fine, fine. Not as though I spent the whole week fretting about why you hadn't replied to my letter," she says in a studied air of casualness, helping me to some fried eggs and sausages which I tuck into hungrily, the effects of yesterday's soup having long since worn off.

"In the interest of fairness," puts in Graham, "she only started stressing about it on Friday."

"It was a painful two days! I was worried you'd been carried off, or eloped with Potter or something. And then after yesterday—"

"What about yesterday?" I interrupt instantly through a mouthful of sausage, my mind immediately jumping to James' sudden appearance in my dorm. Had someone seen him climbing out of the window?

"…When you were ill in bed all day…" carries on Abi more slowly, looking puzzled. "Why? Did something happen yesterday?"

"No!" Again I speak too quickly, and Abi and Graham exchange a Look. Realising my mistake, I backtrack. "It's nothing, nothing worth mentioning. Pass the toast?"

But Abi is not to be put off. As ever, I eventually find myself telling all.

"You're telling me that James Potter was _in your bed_?"

"No! Shut up! He was sat on my bed, on _top_ of the covers."

"Susan Barnethorpe! This is huge news! Why did you not lead with this?"

"I don't understand why you're making such a big deal of this," I grumble, but she just smiles mysteriously and makes me eat some more sausages.

* * *

After that evening spent in her company, I find myself hanging out with Rose quite a bit — by my standards, anyway, which means maybe once a week. I lend her the Chanter books she hasn't read one by one. I learn that she feels kind of stifled by her family, and longs to do something daring, so I offer to teach her to climb the Whomping Willow.

I almost regret it as soon as I've said it, but her excitement when we actually attempt it changes my mind. She's clumsy and uncoordinated, but incredibly enthusiastic; until she gets the hang of it I have to wait down the bottom and call up instructions so that I am ready at the knot-hole to neutralise the tree immediately each time she rouses it by slipping. When we are finally both perched on a high branch, out of sight of anyone on ground level (the leaves have finally got thick enough to offer decent coverage) it feels almost as satisfying as when I first climbed up alone, though I'm not sure why. I have to write a Potions essay while I'm up there, but Rose doesn't seem to mind. In turn, she teaches me to whistle — albeit tunelessly — which infuriates James no end.

One day in May (neither of us have actually important exams this year — I don't have any, and Rose is confident she could pass her end-of-years with her eyes closed — so we're slacking a little bit while we can) Rose tells me a secret.

"I'm sleeping with Scorpius Malfoy," she announces in a whisper, and I almost fall over.

" _Rose!"_

"What? You won't tell anyone, will you?"

"No of course not, but," I try to find a sensitive way to phrase this, "you're only _fifteen._ Don't you think that's a little, er, young?"

"No," she says cheerfully. "We're being careful, so it's not like I'm going to end up a teen mum."

"Yeah, but," I fumble. "There's more to it than that. Emotions and…things. Are you dating him, or is it just a buddies with benefits thing?"

"Oh, definitely the latter." Half the time Rose talks like she's about forty. "It's pretty fun. He's wasn't much good to start with, but I'm training him."

"And you don't think that, um, feelings are going to get involved at some point?" I enquire cautiously.

"Oh, bound to at some point," she says brightly. "But I'm young and reckless— I'm supposed to make mistakes."

"Hmm." Nonplussed by this attitude, I give up trying to be responsible. "Well, just make sure if anyone gets their heart broken, it's him and not you." I wonder whether she was a virgin before Scorpius, though I feel it imprudent to ask. She seems ever so blasé about something that most people tend to make a fairly big deal out of.

A few days after this, on Thursday, Abi and Graham confront me after fourth period. They have both just had a free, and meet me after Potions with set expressions. "You're having lunch with us," Abi announces. "We haven't seen you at all this week— you've been either off with your other mates or on your own. We get that you need your alone time, but now it's your _us_ time."

This is in fact true. Monday was the day I sat with Rose, Tuesday I spent most of my spare time on my broom, and yesterday I hung out with James. It hasn't occurred to me that Abi and Graham might mind this, though. When I voice this thought, they scoff.

"We're not used to sharing you with anyone other than yourself," explains Graham.

"We miss you, idiot!" says Abi with a laugh.

Fairly soon, James joins us. This has been happening more and more often recently, because now I inexplicably have so many demands on my time, I can't possibly have enough space if I spend time with everyone individually. "Fred's gone off to be gross with Sadie _again_ ," he explains with a grimace, and Abi and Graham make sympathetic noises. They've come to get on with James pretty well, although Abi has told me privately that she still thinks he's a bit "standoffish." And honestly, around them, he is rather. It has occurred to me to wonder why he still joins me if he's not comfortable with Abi and Graham, but I haven't attempted to voice my question.

"Did you know," begins Abi, who has been reading up on the Department of Magical Law Enforcement avidly, "that they recently passed a law that only a new type of veritaserum, that only works on yes/no questions, can be used in interrogations?"

"How come?" asks James with interest. Graham and I exchange resigned glances; Abi has been hitting us with did-you-knows constantly for the past few weeks.

"To avoid violating people's privacy," she explains. "If you have to answer absolutely anything with the literal truth, it can really easily be abused. Also there was an unfortunate case a couple of years back when an Enforcer told a woman whose dosage had been messed up to "tell them everything." She couldn't stop talking for days. It brought to light some pretty unethical tactics from some of the Enforcers, which generally gets passed by because the Serum usually wears off in about half an hour."

"And you still want to work for these guys?" says Graham sceptically.

"I'll be one off the good guys, of course," responds Abi promptly, and gets cross when we all laugh at her.

"Hey Good Cop," I rib her, "can I copy your Herbology homework?"

"You should have done it yourself," she says, unusually stiff. It doesn't bother me, though— I know I can do the work easily enough in the next half hour, since it's not exactly tricky. I've nearly finished it by the time she speaks to me again. "By the way, Sue, I found this Figure Flying competition happening in the autumn." She holds out a page from a newspaper, ripped down one side. "You should go for it — planning a routine or whatever it is you do could help keep you focused in training for the scholarship audition."

I abandon Herbology to take the proffered advertisement with interest, but James puts up a hand and goes, "whoah, whoah, whoah. You want to be a Figure Flyer?" I'm immersed in the competition description, so Abi answers for me.

"She can't afford the school, so she's going to go for the scholarship. She reckons she hasn't a chance, but I have perfect faith in her."

"You've never even seen me fly," I retort, still reading.

"Well that's not for lack of asking," says Abi smartly, which is true enough; she's nagged me about it a lot since she first found out.

"You are pretty amazing at it, Susie," James tells me. "You'll have this competition _and_ the audition in the bag, I know it." Out of the corner of my eye I observe Abi and Graham share one of their Looks, though whether at "Susie" or the fact that James has seen me fly, I couldn't say.

"Nah, not a chance," I tell him offhandedly. "I think I'll still go for this competition though— it'll be good practice if nothing else."

"When's the audition?" James wants to know.

"Mid-October — final date yet to be confirmed ." I'm terrified, to be honest; I have five months left to prepare for something I've been dreaming about since I was thirteen, and even though I'm certain it's a no-go, a part of me can't help desperately hoping. Perhaps Graham notices I'm looking a little twitchy, because he changes the subject.

"What do you want to do after school, James?"

"Uh — I kind of want to be a cartoonist," he replies uneasily. "I know it's not as noble as my Dad, or as exciting as my Mum, but drawing is kind of my favourite thing to do."

"He's ever so good," I comment vaguely, now re-immersed in my Herbology.

"I like pranks though, so if it doesn't come off I could always just work in my Uncle's shop."

This sparks off another whole conversation about Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, and surprisingly I feel comfortable enough to drift away in my mind without being wary of my friends descending into awkward silences without me to help things along. It strikes me as odd that in a few short months I've gone from feeling like an outsider in Abi and Graham's friendship to apparently being the link holding together this fragile and temporary group.

"Does it bother you that you're always second choice to him, after Fred?" Abi asks me bluntly later. Graham looks slightly pained at her directness.

"No?" I'm baffled by the question. "He's his cousin. They've known each other since they were born. They've spent all their time together since they came to Hogwarts."

"Yeah, but whenever he turns up he always tells us about how he can't be with Fred because he's busy," persists Abi. "Doesn't that get annoying, that he's always talking about how he'd rather be with someone else?"

I laugh at her. "I'm pretty sure that's just for your benefit," I explain. "I get the impression he thinks he's intruding when I'm with the two of you." Merlin knows I remember the feeling, I add silently. "He never does it when it's just us."

They absorb this information, and then the conversation turns to other things. I almost ask why Abi would expect me to mind anyway, but judging by her winks and nods and mysterious behaviour I think I can guess. It seems like less hassle just to let it lie, and hope she drops it soon.

I have all but forgotten the conversation until, the following Monday, having been let out of Potions early, I am wandering past the Defence classroom where I know Abi and Graham are just as their lesson ends. First to exit are Fred and Sadie, arms about each other's waists, so absorbed in conversation that Fred doesn't even notice me to say hi until they're almost past. I instinctually shrink back as Alyson and Thomas Parkinson follow, quarrelling about something, but behind them emerge Abi, Graham and James, chatting genially. They spot me and approach, and Graham turns to James with to say, "You joining us for lunch, Potter?"

"Sounds good," he agrees easily, and suddenly the slight tension seems to have eased. Abi, Graham and James spend the lunch hour ribbing each other gently and discussing the upcoming Gryffindor/Ravenclaw Quidditch match on Saturday. Though he can't bear to fly, James is apparently an avid supporter of both Puddlemere and the Gryffindor team.

("You should go to a professional match some time, Sue. They're so cool!"

"James, I hate to be a downer but I really think I'd rather jump off the Hogwarts roof.")

While neither Abi nor Graham are hugely into Quidditch, they cheer for Hufflepuff in house games, and for Hufflepuff to win the tournament this year they need Ravenclaw to beat Gryffindor by a couple of hundred points. This leads to some good natured bickering, and (caring little for the sport, even when my own house aren't losing dismally) I am only half present. Until, however, Graham asks James the million dollar question which startles me out of my semi-daydream state.

"How come you never went in for Quidditch, James?" he inquires. "It must be pretty big in your house, what with your parents, and your brother on the Slytherin team."

James looks uncomfortable — after raving about his favourite teams, he certainly couldn't claim disinterest in the game — and I cut in quickly. "James can't throw or catch to save his life," I tell him, hoping it isn't true. Even if it is, it's much less useful for an eavesdropping kidnapper than not knowing how to fly. "Total butterfingers."

"That's me," he agrees, looking relieved. "Even Lily's in the Gryffindor reserves, so I'm a complete outcast in my family."

"That must be pretty annoying," remarks Abi sympathetically.

"Have you tried footall?" Graham wants to know.

I return to my diary a few days later, and read over my previous entry with excessive nostalgia for something written only a month ago. _People that are important to me_. I can certainly add James and Rose's names to that list now, which concerns me a little. While too short a list is depressing, I dislike the idea of it getting too long. After all, the more people I care about, the more potential I have to be hurt.

This time, I try an exercise inspired by an overheard conversation from a couple of second years the day before.

("Have you read _The_ _Veela Diaries_?"

"Yes omg! Cecelia is _so_ me.")

I note down which fictional characters the people in my life would be if they were, you know, fictional characters. Alyson Parkinson would one hundred percent be Cruella de Vil, I decide, and Dominique Weasley definitely Black Widow from the Marvel comics — beautiful, in control, and completely badass. Then my thoughts turn to _Goblin Ink_ ; even at the first reading, the protagonist Mikelde, a goblin in the midst of the 1612 rebellion, reminded me of Abi: practical, loyal, kind, and somewhat given to melodramatics. And surely James would be the cheeky Nolly, the house elf who spends half the book wish he could read.

This reflection derails my train of thought, and I begin to muse over James' flying problem. In _Goblin Ink_ , Nolly persuades Mikelde to teach him to read, and he ends up learning both English and Gobbledegook, meaning he is able to leave the abusive pub owner and work instead for local government, easing goblin/human relations in the wake of the rebellion. But real life is a little more complex, even without the backdrop of a bloody rebellion; James's fear of and inability to fly is surely not the result of a lack of teaching. With a professional player for a mother, and a "youngest seeker in a century" for a father, he has surely not been wanting for adequate instruction. I drift off to sleep, still turning the matter over and over in my mind, and wake in the early hours of the morning, the edge of my diary imprinting my cheek with a thin red line.

* * *

It's the Friday of that week, the day before the oh-so-important match, and I wake up at 5 again. Knowing instinctively that I can't possibly get back to sleep, I sneak out and go for a fly. I try The Suicide, which I haven't done in a while, and with the leftover adrenaline still pumping through my veins I decide to do a gentle sweep of the grounds to come down from the high. As I'm passing over the Quidditch pitch I spot a lone figure in the stands, hunched up on one of the top benches. I swoop closer, and recognize James, apparently lost in thought. He hasn't seen me, so I come up silently behind him, moving forward along my broom which reduces my control but means I can get up close without him noticing the broom, until I'm hovering almost level with his head, holding my breath.

"Couldn't sleep again?" I say into the silence, and he lets out a high pitched shriek and pitches forward, catching his footing just in time and spinning round to face me.

When he sees that it's me, he lowers his fists sheepishly. "Instinct," he explains in a mumble, as I try unsuccessfully to hold in my guffaws.

"What are you doing here?" I ask when I've got my laughter under control.

He gives me an odd look. "Couldn't sleep," he repeats my words back to me.

"But what are you doing _here_ here. At the quidditch pitch. Rather than climbing the school roofs." He shoves his shoulder into me, making me bob on my broom. "Contemplating what could be if you could fly?" I guess in a lowered voice, though the likelihood of anyone else being out and about is not high.

He doesn't respond for so long that I don't think he's going to at all. "They don't make a big deal of it," he says unexpectedly, "but I can tell I cramp their style." I open my mouth to ask who we're talking about, but then shut it again abruptly as he continues. "We went to a game as a family last summer, Puddlemere against the Harpies, and Mum got us VIP access because she used to play for the Harpies. After the crowds were gone the Harpies offered to play a match with us, but there were so many people still around — managers, cleaners, staff and whatever — that Mum had to turn them down in case it looked odd for Al and Lily to play and not me, and someone started asking questions. The Harpies are Lily's favourite team, and I just…" he swallows. "I dunno, I mean I guess there'll be other opportunities, Mum having the connections she does, but I just felt bad, you know?"

"Yeah," I agree quietly, not knowing what else to say. We stare at the empty pitch by the growing light in the sky for some time. Eventually I say hesitantly, "Look, this is probably a stupid question, but you have tried, like, learning to fly, haven't you?"

"Of course I have," he replies sharply. "My dad's hired the best and most discreet teachers to try and teach me, but one by one they've all given up. It's a phobia; you can't teach someone not to be afraid."

The word _phobia_ triggers something in my mind. "Actually," I say slowly, "I'm pretty sure you can."


	6. Chapter 6: Sufferings of This Present

Gryffindor wins the match, and hence the cup, which seems like a good omen for James. We meet on the far side on the lake after dinner three days later: me, with my Lightening; James with one of the ratty old brooms from the school shed; Graham, armed with a self-help pamphlet on phobias that his dad actually wrote several years ago ("He sent me a few different ones that he got published, to show off, but honestly I never even opened them"); and finally Abi, bouncing up and down with nervous energy.

It has taken some persuasion for James to agree that Abi and Graham should be told about his flying problem. Even when he admits that it would be worth telling for Graham for his second-hand experience with psychology stuff, he's reluctant to tell Abi as well. I find out, to my astonishment, that this whole security company thing he mentioned the previous month is far more invasive than I ever imagined.

"You seriously have to report anyone who finds out that you can't fly, and they investigate them?" We are sat on the wall on the edge of the viaduct, me swinging my legs over the side, James perched perpendicular to me with feet planted carefully on the paving stones. He has cast that _muffliato_ spell I couldn't manage, so we can talk freely.

"Yep. They pass everything on to my parents as well."

"What did they find out about me?" I'm curious; I must have been found acceptable, because I'm still here, but surely they must have had some reservations; my mother does not particularly go out of her way to hide her blood purist views.

James shrugs. "They don't tell me the details. I didn't hear back, so nothing too bad I guess. I'd already decided that we were going to be mates, though; there's nothing they could have done to change my mind about that."

"So why can't you just tell them you let Abi and Graham in on it? There's no way they'd find anything wrong with them. Graham's muggleborn, and I'm pretty sure Abi had an aunt or a something-removed cousin who died fighting alongside your dad."

He stares at me. "My parents can't find out I'm going around just telling people straight out that I can't fly! They won't get this therapy business." I open my mouth to interject, but he carries on, "And don't suggest I make up some lie about how they 'found out'- they'll guess that it's to do with you because they're your best friends, and you won't be very popular any more. No, if either of them is to be told, it has to be a secret. So the fewer extras in on it, the better."

"Fine," I say resignedly, "but you can't tell Gray and expect him not to tell Abi. It's not fair on them."

Eventually he acquiesces, and hence the four of us find ourselves sat in the failing light of the grounds, Graham squinting at his pamphlet- _Self Help: Cognitive Behavioural Therapy for Phobias_.

"The first few pages all seem to be about identifying phobias," he says, flipping through disinterestedly. "We don't need that, we know James has a phobia."

"So when does it get useful?" I demand, jiggling my Lightening in my lap.

"Crikey, give me a chance. I'm doing my best," Graham retorts, irritated. "You do realise I'm not actually a therapist, right? And I've actively avoided my dad's psychology talk most of my life? So I probably have no better idea what I'm doing than any of you."

"Well, why are you the one holding the pamphlet and nattering away then?" Abi inquires impatiently. She grabs it out of Graham's hands, and begins to flick through it herself. However, though Abi, James and I pass it around, we're all stumped by the unfamiliar language.

"'Biologically programmed'? What does that mean?"

"Can thoughts be unhelpful? That sounds like they won't do the dishes, or something."

"'Challenging your negative thoughts.' What, to a duel? Can you duel thoughts? What are you supposed to do, hit them with a jelly-legs?"

"You're all idiots," Graham diagnoses, snatching the pamphlet back from me. "Sue, Abi- you don't even need to be here, so if you've got nothing better to do than make stupid remarks…"

"We'll be quiet," promises Abi hastily, and I mime jinxing my lips together. After a fair amount of hemming and hawing, Graham decides that the best way James can start working on his fear is by looking through the questions on page three- things like "What thoughts go through your mind when you are faced by the situation you are afraid of?" and "Which of these thoughts are illogical, and why?" He calls the meeting to a close, explaining that James can best work on these alone.

"Homework, great," comments James glumly, taking the pamphlet. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm glad we didn't get on to actually using these brooms yet," (I mock-grimace at him, and he pulls a face in response) "but still…"

"Do you think you can have them done by Friday?" Graham asks importantly. "And if you want to meet without these two losers to put us off," he adds as James nods, "that's absolutely fine."

James meets my eyes directly, an unreadable expression on his face. "They can stay," he says firmly, not breaking eye contact.

* * *

It is the next morning, when I am quietly minding my own business, brushing my hair and finishing the Arithmancy reading at the same time, that I have another run-in with Alyson and co. It's surprisingly easy to avoid them normally, considering we share a dorm, but when Alyson sets her mind to something there's very little any mortal being can do to stand in her way. This particular morning, it seems, she has set her heart on a cosy chat with her one dorm mate who really doesn't want to talk to her.

"Hey, Susan." As ever, Alyson's voice is deceptively mild when she demands my attention.

"Alyson. Sleep well?" I ask guardedly, observing the way Dahlia, Zoë and Brenda are lingering behind her as she stands at the foot of my bed.

"Oh, you know. So-so. You seem to have slept better than some days, I'm glad to see."

"Um…?" I respond intelligently, wondering if it would be possible to make a break for it.

"Oh, you know!" Alyson laughs prettily. "How you normally get up so early? It's a surprise to see you here at this time, really. I feel as though we barely see you anymore, don't you, girls?"

The others agree readily, and they all look at me, waiting for a reply. When I fail to oblige, Alyson continues, "So where _do_ you go when you get up so early, Susan? We were wondering."

"Uh, here and there. You know. Go for a walk. Or whatever." Utterly perplexed by this conversation, I eye the clock on the wall. Clearly they want something, and if I say I'm going to breakfast they'll surely just follow me.

"Really? With anyone in particular? Say…James Potter?"

There it is. I sigh and close my arithmancy book with a little more force than I intend, and Brenda and Zoë both jump at the snap. "Not usually, no."

"It's just," Alyson persists, "you do seem to spend a lot of time together these days. Which is strange, because we really thought he was gay, didn't we, girls?" More nods and mumbles of confirmation.

I can read her implication as clear as if she had said it straight out. There's no way James could possibly have any kind of proper friendship with me, because it's _me_ ; the only reason they can imagine a boy spending time with me is if I'm putting out, but since James is apparently gay, this doesn't compute either. Stung, I say tersely, "I have no idea what James' sexual orientation is. We're friends."

"Oh, honey," titters Alyson. "Isn't that the kind of thing a friend would know? I'm just trying to help you out here, Susan. I would _so_ hate it if you put your trust in someone who was just using you."

Having had about as much of this as I can stand, I slip past them and make for the door.

"I don't think you'd finished brushing your hair, Susan!" calls Brenda after me, and I hear laughter just before the door swings shut. Fortunately the common room is relatively empty, so nobody sees the ridiculous tears gathering in my eyes. However, when I make my exit into the corridor, because someone up there evidently has it in for me, James is lolling against the opposite wall, looking far too at-ease for a Gryffindor in Slytherin territory.

"Sue! Hey. I was hoping I'd catch you, there's something I wanted to talk to…are you okay?" I turn my head away, casually brushing away the tears that haven't quite fallen.

"Oh, just Alyson being…Alyson," I reply bravely. I have told him a little of what it is like to be the outcast in a Slytherin girls' dorm before. "You know how it is."

"That girl!" James exclaims, infuriated, as we begin to make for the Great Hall. "What is her problem? It's about time she grew up, and I've half a mind to help out with that."

"Don't!" I say quickly, alarmed. I smile at his concern; it helps squash the germination of those seeds of doubt Alyson has sown. "Hang on, didn't you have something to say?" I screw up my forehead, remembering his greeting.

James gives me a long, inscrutable look. "It's nothing," he says eventually, and refuses to say any more.

He's…weird, the next couple of weeks. I catch him watching me sometimes; thoughtful, considering. At first I am concerned that Abi's prediction might be coming to pass, but it really doesn't feel like a romantic interest. More like I'm some kind of specimen. He stops laughing at my morbid humour as well, and just gives me one of his strange looks instead.

All in all, I find it quite unsettling, and by the end of May I am back to avoiding him. Since he and Abi and Graham now seem to be entirely comfortable in one another's presence, this unfortunately leads to me also avoiding the latter two, apart from our shared classes. I find myself in something of a dilemma, however, in that Rose is suddenly extremely busy — exam season has arrived, and her sense of obligation to study has finally kicked in. Plus, from a brief conversation I have with her it sounds as though she's having some difficulties with Scorpius. This presents a problem because although my friends are very understanding about my need for space, it's much easier for them to casually invade that space when I am alone than when I am with other people. I try spending time with Fred and Sadie, but they are far more awkward to third wheel than Graham and Abi ever have been, and I quickly drop that idea.

James isn't stupid, and he catches on pretty quickly. However, when he confronts me and asks, "Are you avoiding me, Sue?" I manage for once in my existence to be cool, and with exactly the right amount of surprise and confusion respond, "Of course not, James! Why would you think that?" He lets it lie, but I still feel his gaze on me , and eventually I learn to put up with it, even though it feels as though our casual camaraderie seems to have been damaged slightly. Presumably at some point he'll come out and just say it, whatever it is, I muse as I practice flips on my broom.

* * *

One Thursday in mid-June, things take an exciting turn in the therapy-for-James department. We have taken to holding our meetings in the broad daylight of our lunch breaks, even though the weather is finally approaching the stage that our peers find acceptable enough to begin to join us outside. James' anti-eavesdropping spell makes short work of that issue, however, and it is decided that the risk of awkward questions if anyone should spot us gathering in the evening is too high for that to continue.

In the past few weeks, James has progressed from identifying his misconceptions about flying to ordering his flight related fears from mildest (the sight of a broomstick, which gives him an unpleasant lurch in the stomach area) to worst (having sole control of an airborne broom, which can result in a full blown panic attack and vomiting); he has learnt some calming breathing techniques, and from there he has begun to face his fears one by one in a controlled environment. On this particular day, Graham announces that it's time for him to try accompanied flying, like the time I brought him down from the school roof.

James blanches, and Abi claps her hands in excitement. "See, I knew you could get this far!" she exclaims. "Well _done_ , James!"

"I haven't completed this stage yet," he reminds her, looking queasy but nonetheless managing a smile at her enthusiasm. "Thanks, though."

"You'll be able to take him for his flight?" Graham asks me, ever business-like. "This stage may take longer than the previous ones; he may have to be taken out several times, probably once a week for a while, before he can try flying alone."

"Quit talking about me like I'm not here!" the patient says indignantly, at the same time I reply, "Sure, that's not an issue."

"First thing tomorrow?" I suggest, turning to James.

"I guess," he says dubiously, the quickly amends, "I mean, thanks Sue, yes please."

"I'm not expecting you to look forward to it," I assure him, smirking a little bit at his relieved expression. "I mean, it's a more or less unforgiveable crime if you don't enjoy it, but I've pretty much given up on you, so my expectations aren't high."

James laughs, but Abi reacts in mild outrage. "Sue! You can't say things like that."

"Sure I can, if they're true," I retort flippantly.

"But really! I was looking up crime studies, and I came across this report on the link between emotional abuse – like being told someone's given up on you – and crime, and a lot of people don't realize…"

"Here we go again," I murmur conspiratorially to Graham, and he grins.

"…that if you – _what_ did you say?" The normally sunny Abi is looking suddenly thunderous. There is an awkward silence, and when I look to Graham he refuses to make eye contact.

"Hang on, were you suggesting that I _am_ committing a crime by not liking flying?" James puts in with a forced mixture of cheeriness and mock affront, in a vain attempt to break the horrible tension. Abi ignores him.

"Why have you got to be such a _bitch_ like that, Sue?" she demands, and I flinch back as though I have been slapped. "You _never_ support me or my goals. You just sit there and fucking whine. Is it because you're jealous? Because my aspirations are actually achievable?"

Something inside me gently disintegrates, and I suddenly feel so detached from my impending tears that it's almost easy to hold them back. "I'm sorry, Abi," I say softly, getting to my feet, looking everywhere but my companions' faces. "I'll just…yeah." I hoist my bag over my shoulder, and without a single look back I leave the circle. After only a few steps, a buzzing settles into the bottom of my brain, and I know I've breached the edges of the _muffliato._ With a few steps more, it's faded away entirely.

James follows me; of course he does. He catches up with me about halfway to the main entrance of the castle, but doesn't speak immediately. When he does, he catches hold of my arm, catching me by surprise so that he manages to swing me around.

"Abi shouldn't have said that," he says seriously. "She was in the wrong there – you know that, right?"

Perplexed, I frown at his feet. "She wasn't," I contradict, my voice croaky, as if I haven't used it for a week. "I should never have…I'm not…she was right."

"No she wasn't!" James is unaccountably fierce, and his grip on my wrist tightens. "If she had a problem she should have told you calmly and asked you to stop. She should _never_ have called you a… you're not a bitch, Sue."

I remain silent, still not meeting his gaze. "Look," he tries again, "I know you think Abi is some perfect wunderkind, but she's just as flawed as you or I. You shouldn't believe everything she says, especially not what she says in anger."

Frustration flares up in me, and I wrench my arm away. "What does it matter if she's not perfect? She's a damn sight better friend than I'll ever be, so it hardly makes any difference."

"Sue – no, Susie, wait!" James follows me as I walk blindly away, and manages to get in front of me, blocking my path. "Sue, I've been meaning to say this for a while now," he begins again, and this odd remark stirs me from my stupor. Am I finally to hear why he's been acting so oddly? "I think you…I think your brain sometimes tells you things that…aren't true," he manages with difficulty.

"My brain…" I echo, but trail off.

"Yeah. Listen, I've been borrowing some of the other psychology pamphlets Graham got from his dad. Have you ever heard of depression?"

"Depression? As in, feeling sad?"

"Yeah – no – I mean, sort of. It's a, a mental illness. It makes you feel sad, and generally bad about yourself and things, when you don't actually need to."

I stare at him, uncomprehending.

"And I think that you might have that, Susie."

"No." My reply is flat and does not invite further discussion, but he persists.

"Have you heard of self-harm?"

Unwillingly I dredge my memory. "Like, cutting yourself?" Something clicks. "I don't cut myself!" I shout, outraged, and once again try to make my escape, but I am rapidly discovering a hitherto unsuspected trait that James Potter shares with Alyson Parkinson; he is impossible to give the slip once he has set his mind to something.

"No, it doesn't have to be cutting. According to the pamphlet, it can include putting yourself in dangerous situations deliberately. Sue, you jump off your broomstick for _fun_. You climb all over the castle roof. You climb the Whomping Willow, a tree capable of killing people, and _go to sleep in it._ It's like you…" he hesistates, not quite long enough for me to gather my thoughts and break in, "like you don't value your own life at all."

"LEAVE ME ALONE." Now I have found my voice it is louder than I thought possible, and heads are turning. "Just because you've read a few pamphlets, that doesn't make you an expert on how people's minds work. I'm just a shitty person, okay? Is that really so hard to believe? I'm cynical and negative and an awful friend, and that's _all_ there is to it. So for your own good, Potter, just leave me the _fuck_ alone."

Finally, he does.


End file.
